Birthday in the village

Just a short post about some fun times.

Thursday was Cathal's birthday and a great excuse for a village visit. Cathal's placement of Nawanyago is the most easily accessible of all; only 45 minutes from Jinja. He also has the biggest house which is a ramshackle conversion of an old police headquarters, totally infested with bats and the occasional rat. After a day of teaching in our own villages, me Emily and Megan arrived after dark. We were met by the entire child population of Nawanyago, two local guys with guitars, the Ugandan volunteers from two placements, two British "Africa venture" friends, all the internationals, a lot of pasta and a wide eyed Cathal wearing a Barack Obama t-shirt and holding a spoon.

Cathal in his birthday present

Me among the revelers

A night of music and dancing followed, interrupted by dinner which was shared by most of Nawanyago. We eventually bedded down with eight of us on four mattresses on the floor like some kind of wolf pack.

With the wonderful musical birthday cake at the haven by the Nile later in the week

Lesson plans and the evil blood parasite of doom

Last week began well enough. I've begun teaching both my primary and secondary kids again and, just as in England, the beginning of term means increased attention spans and less general all round mocking. I expect this situation to decline markedly as the months progress!

We began by teaching about drug use and abuse in the primary classes, specifically about cigarettes and alcohol as they are by far the most common substances used by adults and young people alike. Other than a case of demonic possession (one of the girls in our P6 class began making wheezing noises and crying and had to be carried out to the field where she proceeded to fit surrounded by about a hundred children. This is so common here that the deputy head merely looked at her and said "oh has she gone demonic again?") the lessons were going quite well with lots of interesting questions such as "if drinking is so bad why did Jesus do it?"

In the secondary school we have started some lessons on HIV which we hope will help counter the HIV fatigue we experience most days. Basically Uganda was one of the first African countries to begin a coordinated response to the AIDS crisis in the late 80's and early 90's. Unfortunately this means most of the young people have been hearing the same messages every week for their entire life and are bored sick of it. Couple this with an AIDS campaign mainly funded by the US, meaning a focus on abstinence only education, and what do you get? Rising HIV rates. To try and make a dent in this I drew a huge world map on two sheets of flip chart. Most of the kids have never seen a world map and most of the end of the lesson gets taken up with them asking where their own personal world cup team is based (most are supporting Holland for some unfathomable reason). We then proceed to stick up the statistics of people living with HIV and AIDS all over the world: 1.5 million in North America, 850000 in Europe, 3.8 million in South East Asia and so on. Then we ask them to guess the figure for Sub-Saharan Africa. They know it will be a big one. 5 million, 6 million, 10 million are all shouted out. I pull out the piece of paper. 22.4 million people in Sub-Saharan Africa are living with HIV and AIDS. There is normally a couple of minutes of chatter and stunned looks from the class before we settle down to talk about the reasons why: lack of access and knowledge about condoms, sexual networks etc. It's shock tactics I know but hopefully some of the message gets through.

I got a cold at the beginning of last week and spent the mornings dragging myself out of bed and staggering along dirt roads for 45 minutes to teach the above lessons. By Thursday (a public holiday so no lessons) I felt ill enough to make my way into town for a malaria test. I was told by the lovely lab attendant that my blood was totally clear. I chastised myself for being such a baby and had lunch with a couple of other volunteers before heading back to one of their placements for an overnight visit. I woke up the next morning feeling more ill than I believe I have ever felt in my life. My head hurt more than I thought was possible and every time I moved fireworks went off behind my eyes. Added to this I felt sick as a dog and weak as a puppy (nice mixed metaphor there). I spent the whole day in bed as Cathal looked at me as if I was about to die and tried to make me drink water and eat food which I admit are good ideas in principle. By the evening I was forced to return to Jinja where a doctor informed me that the doxycycline I take as an (obviously highly effective) anti-malaria medication can affect the tests, meaning the malaria had not shown up. This time the diagnosis was certain and I was sent away with medication to rest and drink lots of milk.

Since then I have been getting steadily better while experiencing some strange side effects from the meds. They seem to effect my ears quite a lot which resulted in all music seeming out of tune for about a day and a half. I nearly killed myself when Coldplay came on the radio. Other than that and general weakness I'm on the mend and teaching again this week. Though I have to say I'm beginning to feel a little restless now, ready to get on the road again in early August.

Love to all, especially my bro who turns 20 today.
Anna
xxxx

Back to reality

The last week of the holidays was one of my best in Uganda. I rafted Grade 5 rapids on the Nile for two days which, though truly terrifying at some points, was absolutely fantastic. We also gatecrashed a very expensive hotel in Jinja and spent the day relaxing by the pool; a nice change from our hostel. Finally, on the last Sunday before our return for training we had a goodbye party for a friend of ours who was leaving to go back to the States forever. Sniff.

Grinning like an idiot with the guys at the party


Feeling clean for the first time in five months

Everything has grown tall in the village since I left. The maize and sugar cane have begun to block out the views of hills and forests. It gives the place a claustrophobic atmosphere it did not have before. Subtle changes add to this unfamiliarity: different cows graze outside my window, the hen has had chicks, some of the children have forgotten my name. That life continues in your absence is obvious; but sometimes it takes these small revelations to remind you.

In order to charge my phone in Busede I have to walk 45 minutes to our nearest trading center which is one of the only places with electricity nearby. As my phone has begun to show it's age I have to make this pilgrimage almost every other day, sit and watch the world go by for an hour and walk back to our little house. Thursday is market day so yesterday all three of us decided to trek up the hill and wait for the trucks to arrive from town. Just before reaching the center we were met by a group of over six hundred people, dressed in their best clothes, crowded around two houses by the side of the road. Two of the local boys had been driving a truck in Rwanda and had died in a road accident. We paid our respects at the funeral and continued to the trading center which was deserted: the whole village turns out for funerals. We managed to find somewhere to charge our phones and sat under an acacia tree to chat to some people who had come from town to register villagers for the upcoming elections.
Five minutes later we heard a cry from down the hill. About one hundred people in full dress clothes were sprinting towards us, pursued by a wall of water which over took and drenched them. Within five seconds we had grabbed the stools we sat on and raced to the nearest porch to escape the downpour. It was the first rain the village has had in weeks and the road quickly became a river. We sat munching on roasted corn. "What is central heating?" my placement partner asked. Try explaining the concept of radiators to someone who lives on the equator. It was possibly my strangest moment yet in Uganda.

Holidays - and finally some photos!

The school holidays have begun and that means that us teachers are getting a (hopefully) well earned rest from village life and a chance to explore some of Uganda. It began with a trip to my placement partner's Aunt's "Introduction". This is a traditional wedding which a couple have to take part in before they are able to have a church marriage in Uganda. It has its origins in tribal practices and is quite a spectacle. The ceremony is held at the bride's family's home and the grooms party sit separately for the entire day. Various female family members are paraded in front of the groom's party until finally the bride is "selected", after which the bride's friends pick out the groom by pinning a flower on his jacket. This was followed by a huge present giving session, food, cake and dancing, all of which was fantastic fun.

Women on parade at the introduction

Me in the middle of the dance floor

The next weekend, after tying up all the loose ends at placement, me and three friends (one of which works for a rather generous NGO and thus has access to a car) headed off to Sipi falls on the far Eastern side of Uganda. It was a great opportunity for a little r + r, though we did manage a three hour trek up to the falls and a swim in the freezing cold mountain waters.

Us at Sipi

Next I took a trip out to the Fort Portal area, about a five hour drive west towards the Rwandan boarder. The area is famous for it's crater lakes which pockmark the valley. They are free of hippos and bilharzia which meant I could finally go for a nice swim. As I was the only visitor at the camp site I spent the afternoon with the local kids who had come for a swim in the lake. They let me play on their self-made bamboo boat and were totally amazed that I was able to dive in from the rocks. Though it was lovely to spend some time on my own I did miss sharing the amazing scenery with someone. Occasionally you just want someone to take your picture!

A panorama of Lake Nkuruba

After spending a few days hanging around Jinja and Kampala my last adventure took me out to Lake Bunyonyi (scene of the events of the previous post!). Despite the worm action the area was beautiful. The lake is a result of a volcanic eruption about 8000 years ago which flooded a valley with redirected water from a river. It has over twenty beautiful islands which you can visit by motorboat or dug out canoe. The latter is much nicer and you pay about £1 per person for a 45 minute journey. We rented a motorbike to explore the beautiful views around the lake and headed out to one of the islands for dinner.

Me playing with some of the great kids we met on our walk.

In a dug-out canoe on the lake

Lansing paddling with Noah our "captain"

Having fun on the island

Uganda really is a stunningly beautiful country. Wherever you go lush vegetation and natural features crowd the landscape. The people too are so friendly and always willing to help you out. We got a flat tire on our motorbike about 2k from the hotel and a man from the red cross stopped to help us push the bike back, just because he was headed that way. I feel genuinely privileged that I have had a chance to live here and experience the country from a very different perspective. Those who just pass through rarely get to see events like the Introduction and often just skim the surface of life here. I know I write about disturbing events and the difficulties of everyday life but I honestly wouldn't trade this experience for the whole world.

For strong stomachs only. Seriously.

I've been doing some fantastically fun things and travelling around these last few weeks and I promise to do another update very soon about that (and by that I mean when I actually bloody remember to bring my camera to an internet cafe!). But a story that definitely doesn't require pictures - but which google will happily provide - is what happened to me this weekend. On Monday morning I woke up in my hostel bed after having gone to a Ugandan hip-hop gig in a makeshift stadium the night before. Fun times were had by all and the five angry looking mosquito bites on my stomach and one on my arm seemed a small price to pay.

As the week progressed the bites began to look more and more swollen and hurt like hell. By Friday I decided that they must be infected and resigned to sort it out myself. As I was holidaying beside Lake Bunyonyi in the middle of nowhere I did it the traditional travellers way: with nail scissors and medicinal alcohol. Now it gets graphic. From the first "bite" I tackled I pulled out a tiny wriggling maggot. It looked like this:

Tumbu fly larva, courtesy of google

I must have stared at it for three full minutes. The clearest thought running through my head was...I've got five more of these in me. In some kind of determined daze I put freaking out to one side and proceeded to dig the others on my stomach out one by one, biting down on my tube of deodorant as I went. I was aware of the fact that it was painful but all that I could think of was getting these things out of me. After half an hour I had five holes in my stomach which I cleaned with the alcohol. However, the one on my right arm was extremely deep and frenzied gouging with my left hand was unsuccessful. Resigning myself to sleeping with a worm in my arm I spent a fitful night waking up to horrible shooting pains where it was moving around under the skin.


The next day I took the 12k journey by motorbike to the nearest hospital where I proceeded to baffle the medical technician on duty who called in his superior. While waiting to be seen I felt a stabbing pain in my arm and looked down to see Dave the worm poking his head out of the hole. He had to go.

The hospital: courtesy of google

The doctor on duty still didn't know what it was but decided to give me a local anaesthetic and dig it out of my arm with a surgical blade. Normally I am not scared of needles or medical procedures but I have to admit, lying there on a bed in a Ugandan hospital with a worm in my arm, I was further out of my comfort zone than I have ever been. I think I broke the technician's hand as I lay on my side and had the local administered. It didn't work the first time, or the second. After the third try I just shouted at the man to dig the thing out of me and be done with it. Finally, with lots of blood, he pulled out the worm and, looking at me like I was super-woman for digging the others out myself, dressed my wound and gave me some precautionary de-worming tablets. For all of this attention I forked out the grand total of £2.80.

Since then I have found out that it was a Tumbu fly, probably picked up from sitting on the ground at the music gig. Though it was a pretty traumatising experience I know now that I can deal with it if it happens again...though please touch wood for me that it doesn't.

Random musings

This morning a low mist hung over the tops of the pine trees and a light drizzle had been falling since midnight. I pulled on three layers of clothing, wrapped most of my belongings in plastic bags and stepped out into the cold air outside. No I have not made an early return to Western Europe; this is Uganda in the rainy season. The pine forest sits high on the hills surrounding my house and is a very lucrative government owned import crop. It creates a strange scene juxtaposed with the rice plantations and banana trees. As if someone just picked up the Forest of Dean and moved it to the tropics.

The track that links Busede with the main road to Jinja is more crevice than surface. Churned up by heavy rains, sugarcane trucks, tractors and zero maintenance it mainly consists of two small paths where the wheels of motorbike taxis can just about get a grip on the steep incline. This morning it was a mud bath. I clung to the shoulders of the random man riding along with me as we slid across the surface of the road. At one point we had to get off and walk up the hill, meeting the bike at the top to continue. Why would you be so reckless and put yourself in such silly danger? You may ask. Honestly, there is no other way to get around. If I want to get to town, I get on the back of a bike!

This scenario helps me explain why faith, of one kind or another, is so pervasive here. Take rain for example. The fact that it makes the roads impassible, dangerous, accident strewn mud pits is only the beginning. If the rain comes too early, too late, in too great or too little a quantity it will kill month’s worth of planting efforts in the garden. This is not just a minor inconvenience; it means people cannot feed themselves or their families. Too much rain floods the bore holes with poisons from the surrounding soil, leading to diarrhea and dysentery which regularly kill children and vulnerable adults. All of this and more is the result of a not abnormal level of precipitation; it can literally be a matter of life and death.

Dispassionate and objective thoughts on matters such God and faith are a luxury of those who are separated from this basic struggle to survive. When I tell people that I do not believe in God I am looked at as if I have just proclaimed my disbelief of trees or clouds: it is simply unthinkable. One of the questions I am most often asked is “well what do you do when you get sick if you do not prey?” The answer, that I go to the doctor, take medicine and hopefully get better, is met with blank stares. What if there is no doctor or medicine or the money for either? Then who would you turn to? I honestly don’t know the answer.

Easter

We began Easter Sunday with a sacrifice. Me and Emily (another international volunteer) had left our respective villages on Friday and travelled to visit Megan who lives in the grounds of a primary school in Nawansaso, about two hours from Jinja. When we arrived Megs, in her wonderful way, began filling us in on all the plans she had for the children over Easter. The school has some borders (which isn't posh here, it means mattress on the floor) and eighteen of them weren't able to go home for the holidays. Megs had decided that it would be cool to do an Easter egg hunt and some games with small prizes for them. On top of this we were invited for Easter lunch with the Headmaster and the children which we really wanted to contribute to....which brings me on to the sacrifice!

The cockerel, affectionately named Dinner, had been bought a few days before and had spent the last few mornings waking everyone up at 6am, not endearing itself to those who controlled its fate! At about eight in the morning Emily, who had chickened out (sorry) of this once before, tied up its wings and feet with the help of Sarah who is Ugandan and is very used to this ritual. It was taken outside to a bed of banana leaves for its final journey. Slaughtering a chicken by hand isn't easy but is pretty quick and humane. You lay it down and stand quite firmly on the feet to keep it from struggling, hold the head up and pluck some of the feathers from the neck so you can see where to cut. If this hurt Dinner he didn't show it and was quite silent. You then take a knife and, as fast as possible, cut off the head. It twitches for a long time afterward! I have some wonderfully gruesome pictures of all of this but have unfortunately lost my camera lead somewhere - which to be honest makes you all quite lucky, it was pretty gory! I have a memory card reader though (another of dad's wonderful additions to my packing) and so I will get some horrid photos up when I remember to bring it to town.

A Cockerel that looks like Dinner....but isn't. Damn camera lead.

We spent the rest of the morning painting our blown out eggs and putting them on top of little cones filled with sweets for the kids' Easter hunt later. We then proceeded to church which was long, hot, dull and in a different language! This was all more than made up for by the fantastic lunch we then attended. Rice, Mattoke (plantain) potatoes both normal and sweet, beef, two chicken dishes (one ours), chapatis (which we also made!) and soda were served for us, the few remaining teachers and the eighteen children who looked as if they had never seen so much food before in their lives (possibly true). We piled our plates as high as humanly possible sat on school benches under the shade of a tree to eat. Dinner was delicious.

Suitably full me and the girls hid the paper cones around the field and let the children loose to find them. While very happy with the sweets they simply could not fathem the hollow decorated eggs. You cant eat them, play with them; they have no use. Many of them broke them because they were convinced there must be something inside as the adults whispered to us under their breath "how did you get out the yolk". Once we explained they were an English tradition they were given a few more skeptical looks and abandoned in favour of the candy. Games followed with skipping and hula-hoop races cut short by a rain storm which caused us to flee inside and be entertained by songs from the teachers and children. When the rain had stopped some of the grown ups decided they hadn't had enough fun and, in their best Easter church clothes, began initiating more skipping, dancing and commandeered the SPW push bike for solo speed races around the field. Wiping the tears of laughter from our eyes we gave out prizes such as tennis balls for the winners of the games and more sweets for everyone, including the teachers, cooks and secretary for their truly terrifying cycling.

As everything was winding down, us three exhausted girls jumped on a mini bus to visit Cathal, another international volunteer who lives about an hour away. We sat with a few beers and played scrabble till past midnight.

Cathal (see the "Caddy in Africa blog" ---->) and some of the
cutest kids in the world at Nawanyago placement

Me and Megs top and tailed in their tiny spare bed and crashed out for the night. I can honestly and without corniness say that I don't think I have ever had a more entertaining and fulfilling Easter in my entire life; and I didn't even have an Easter egg.

No words.

Something happened in my friend's placement community which I want to share with you. Her placement partner, who is Ugandan and comes from the community they work in, was abandoned by his mother at the age of two and brought up by his Aunt. Last week she had a miscarriage. She lay in a bed at the local, poorly stocked, under-staffed clinic and bled to death because there was no one to take her to a hospital. In a final injustice her husband and nephew had to carry her blood soaked body back to their house on the back of a motorbike. She leaves behind five children, nephews, nieces and a devastated husband on suicide watch. She was 36.

When things like that happen , aside from the awful loss and sense of hopelessness, its a real slap in the face for what we do here. What right do you have to stand in front of a class of students and tell them to go for STD testing at a clinic which they associate with that kind of treatment? How can you possibly tell people that you understand their problems?

Sorry but I can't be cheerful all the time.

Just keep swimming...

March has flown by and I can't believe it is already the 21st. I am over a third of the way through my time on placement already! After thinking seven months would be a very long time to spend on placement the reality couldn't be more different. Next months school lessons stop in early April due to exams and don't begin again until late May when I will only have two months before we begin pulling out of the communities! Because I am always thinking ahead it sometimes feels like my time here is already over, I have to keep reminding myself that I still have four months to go.

Life in Busede is mostly good. Some things which seemed like a fun challenge at the beginning have now become just everyday life. Living without water and electricity takes its toll on your mind and body after a while and the total absence of things to do outside of teaching is a little grueling. Those who are talking of sending me packages I would kill for a copy of The Economist, should keep me busy for a couple of days at least! Not that I don't have a lot to do. I teach about eleven school lessons a week on average, work with the out of school youth groups, connect people with the health center, organise events (pictures next week I promise) do paperwork and I spent most of Friday walking around dust roads with a backpack full of a thousand condoms and a wooden penis! The problem is, when all that is over for the day, there is literally nothing to do but read or play cards. Our radio only picks up stations in the local language so my iPod use has doubled since its purchase! I have read all four twilight books (I'm sorry I finally caved), Captain Coralie's Mandolin, about five random books as well as listening to two Harry Potter's and Guards Guards on my iPod. (On that note a HUGE thank you to my brother for downloading those for me, they have been a god send!)

On the work side of it though everything is moving along swimmingly. Some of our efforts to get the out of school youth groups registered, which allows them to access a load of government resources, is starting to bare fruit and every primary school child I teach in Busede now knows how HIV kills through the innovative use of a game similar to British bull dogs. Happily condoms are now rolling into the county after months of prophylactic drought and I'm actually managing to get them out to the people who need them. I'm going to keep trying to make the most of my time here so that I can really enjoy my traveling when it's all over: a (hopefully) well earned reward :)

Love to everyone and I should be on here next week for a chat.
Anna
xxxx

Joan

So today is a national holiday in Uganda: "woman's day". It seems to me to mean a lot of shouting on the radio and no lessons in school; if it has any other purpose I remain oblivious! So I thought I would use it to tell you all about Joan who lives next door to me (don't worry the narcissism will return and I will do another post to let you all know what I've been doing).

Joan is the oldest daughter of the family which live next door to us in the grounds of the Sub County at Busede. She gets up at about half six most mornings and helps her mum wash and dress her two younger siblings. At around half seven she sets off to walk for 45 minutes, barefoot, to school where she stays until the afternoon. Sometimes we walk together. We don't speak each others language so other than some point and click phrases we walk in silence. Neither of us seem to mind though, its nice to have the company.When she is not at school I have seen Joan sweeping the house, walking her crying younger brother round the compound to calm him down, weeding the garden with a huge hoe, carrying water on her head back from the bore hole, cooking and running to the shops to buy milk for the family's breakfast.The other day we were walking to school together and Joan started to cry. I don't know why, maybe she stepped on a stone or somebody said something hurtful to her. I crouched down in the dust, wiped the tears from her eyes and took her tiny hand in mine.
Joan is six. She is the little girl in blue on the picture below.

Life for children here is full of contrasts. They are allowed more freedom than their European counterparts can imagine, but in return they are expected to work damn hard. Joan has a relatively good life. A house which keeps her dry, a dad with a decent job, a mother who loves her and the chance to go to school. Many children here don't even have that. Apart from anything else, it really puts things in perspective.